


death smiles at us all

by Ias



Series: the things to which fate binds you [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon Rewrite, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Genderswap, or possibly enemies to lovers back to enemies to friends and finally lovers once more???, the stars have yet to reveal it to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:16:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12486800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: The thing is: Silver long ago learned the difference between knowing what she’s doing, and having a plan. Not to mention the fact that it is very possible to exist in both states simultaneously.





	death smiles at us all

Silver is not entirely sure what she’s doing.

In point of fact, she has no idea what the _fuck_ she’s doing at all. Such circumstances might concern some people; especially considering that she’s sitting in a room full of pirates, most of whom would undoubtedly enjoy the sight of Silver’s throat being cut and one in particular who would personally love to do the cutting. But honestly, it’s not even the worst day Silver’s had this _week._

That one particular person is currently scrutinizing the piece of paper Silver has penned in exchange for life and limb—the same paper which, for the moment, is missing some rather crucial information. From the deepening scowl on Captain Flint’s face, that fact has just become apparent.

The thing is. Silver has long ago learned the difference between knowing what she’s doing, and having a _plan_. And the fact that it is more than possible to do both at the same time.

Flint steps forward. Her boots hit the wood with slow, measured steps, until there’s nothing between her and Silver but the scant protection of the desk. Despite the muggy island air, Silver's throat is, understandably, bone-dry. Flint's eyes don’t leave the paper held in one hand before her. “Where’s the rest?”

To Silver’s surprise, she doesn’t sound angry. More tired than anything, as if this is merely one more aggravation standing between Flint and that mountain of gold. Silver can’t really blame her. After all, the Captain has just gotten through a very _exciting_ few days. Her cheek and the bridge of her nose are still broken open from the fight—and _Jesus_ , the fight. Silver is still having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that she watched this woman bash a man’s head in with her bare fists, lie blatantly about the page, and then give a speech so rousing that Silver herself might have leapt to join the cause. If she hadn’t already known it was all bullshit, of course.

All in all, a master manipulator. Well, Silver is betting she can do better. She narrows her eyes, raises them to Flint’s face, and says with perfect politeness: “Beg pardon?”

Flint lowers the page. It’s hard not to notice the blood seeping through the cloth that binds her knuckles. When she stares at Silver with the full weight of her attention, the experience is not unlike having the tip of a sword pressed to her forehead. “The Urca has a planned stop to take on water somewhere on the coast of Florida. That's the point where they're most vulnerable to attack. _This,”_ Flint raises the page disparagingly, “describes a course that ends miles short of the coast.” Flint pauses. Her eyes are level and they bore into Silver’s, as if digging towards the information in her brain. “Where's the rest of the course?”

The sweat on Silver’s brow is hardly from tension alone. Though all the windows in Eleanor Guthrie’s office are open, the room is almost unbearably hot; the sluggish breeze that slinks in past the curtains is about as refreshing as a dog panting its hot wet breath in your face. Not to mention the fact that the five other people in the room are all staring—or more accurately, glaring daggers—at Silver herself. The strip of cloth binding her chest flat isn’t helping matters. It clings to her skin, damp with perspiration. She could have removed it, of course, without the repercussions she could have expected on Parrish’s ship; but the ambiguity of her gender among most of the crew suits her just fine **.** She’s never been much attached to it one way or the other.

Having suitably paused for effect, Silver tilts her head, her dark mop of sweaty curls shifting against her neck, and gives a theatrical little wince. “Well, I can’t exactly write that down, can I?”

The towering pillar of muscle known as Billy perks up. “Why not?”

“Well, you all seem rather _angry_ with me,” Silver says, her eyes darting from face to stony face until she settles on Eleanor. “Especially you. And if I were to write it all down, then what's to stop you from killing me right here?”

The expression on Flint’s face assures Silver that there’s nothing she’d rather do more. A beat of damning silence, and Billy speaks up again. “I say we bring Joji in here. He'll have it out of him in ten minutes.”

“Torture won’t help you,” Silver say quickly.

“You haven’t seen Joji work.”

“No, I mean I have an exceptionally low tolerance for pain. I’d say anything to make it stop,” Silver says, a nervous laugh bubbling up behind her words. Flint turns around to brace her hands on the windowsill. Silver can practically hear the hiss of frustration through her teeth. She has Flint in a corner. Now all Silver has to do is give her an out. “But there may be a more mutually beneficial solution to all this: What if I were to remain with your crew?”

Just as expected, Flint slowly turns. “It makes sense,” Silver says, speaking quickly now. “I forgo payment for the schedule in exchange for my share of the prize. You proceed with your plan. When the time comes for me to reveal the last piece, I will be right by your side.” Her eyes dart away. It’s hard to stop the impulse to drum her fingers nervously on the desk, but she manages it somehow. Instead she shrugs as if all of this is of little consequence. “If what I tell you is in any way incorrect, well, you can do with me what you will.”

As Silver speaks, Flint’s eyes narrow to squint at her suspiciously. The rest of the people in the room trade dubious glances, but Silver isn’t looking at them. Her eyes stay on Flint. In the end, it’s the Captain who will decide her fate. Judge, jury, and enthusiastic executioner.

Flint takes another step forward. Slowly, she leans forward to brace her hands on the desk. “And when the Urca’s ours?” She raises her eyebrows. One side of her mouth curves upward with all the sharpness of a scimitar. “What’s to stop me from killing you anyway?”

Silver takes a breath. She has found that in situations like these, words must be chosen as carefully as a surgeon might choose his instruments. “Well,” she says, quirking her eyebrows. “That’s a few weeks from now, isn’t it?” The smile she offers is as open as the sea. “We might be friends by then.”

Out of the corner of her eyes she sees Billy shake his head. Flint’s right hand, Gates, starts chuckling openly. The disparaging sneer on Flint’s face grows and then splits open, showing teeth in something that resembles a smile only because of the cold, predatory amusement shining in Flint’s eyes. It’s the kind of smile that says, _I’m going to tear your throat out with my teeth._

Needless to say, Silver stops smiling.

At long last, Flint releases her from that blood-curdling expression to turn her face towards Eleanor, who stands at the window with her back turned on the room as she stares down at the town she as good as owns. “Good enough for you?” Flint says.

Eleanor turns around. Her teeth grind as she fixes Silver with a look that says she’d rather trust a trained monkey with her money than whatever she sees in Silver now. But after a long moment, her fingers unclench. “I guess it will have to be.”

And so, to the muttering of general discontent, Silver’s fate is decided. Or at the very least, postponed. From the amusement that still glints from the shadow of Flint’s eyes, there’s a decent chance that the schedule Silver has memorized is also the exact timetable of her death. Which gives her less than a week to think of a new plan, before Flint tosses her lifeless body to the sharks.  

Less than a week, by Silver’s book, is all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> “Death smiles at us all; all we can do is smile back.” --M.A.


End file.
